


Trick or treat

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 14:09:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17551154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Trick or treat

Halloween was never a happy holiday for Harry. While some people anticipated the chilly nip of autumn, to Harry, the cold felt bleak and dead. While others thrilled at the crunch of fallen leaves under their feet, Harry became agitated by the noise, the sound harsh and threatening to his ears. The whole idea that on this one night every year, spirits rose from their graves and came back to walk among the living sent shivers up Harry’s spine. He wanted to snuggle up close to the fire and imagine better days, filled with warmth and sunshine, when the air outside was breathable again. The cold air of October was never breathable; it was filled with the scent of rotting foliage and of the coming winter, reminding him that many of the people important to him were buried in the frozen, hard earth.

During this particular Halloween, however, he was distracted. By the time the sun set for the evening, he had forgotten most of his nagging worries and had started to become eager for the night to begin. With a sense of giddy anticipation making his heart beat against his chest, Harry entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween Dance raged.

He turned to Ron next to him, who was dressed in all green as a leprechaun. “How funny is it going to be when Malfoy gets here?” Harry asked, grinning broadly.

“Pretty fucking hilarious,” Ron nodded enthusiastically. “Do you reckon he’ll really go through with it, though?”

“Well, he better had!” Harry exclaimed, raising his brows in emphasis. “I caught the snitch fair and square. If he didn’t want to wear it, he shouldn’t have lost.”

“Well said! But you know Malfoy, he could find a way to wriggle out of it.”

Harry doubted it; Malfoy had sworn to keep his part of the bargain. Too many people had witnessed both their bet and their impending Seeker’s Game, braving the cold with gloves and scarves so they could cheer on. Harry reflected that, for once in their lives, Malfoy’s friends and his friends stood side by side, mingling together in a single group as they shared the neutral ground of the Hufflepuff stand. The whole thing was a challenge disguised as a truce, and it everyone knew it. If Malfoy back out on the bet, he’d be breaking something unspoken and fragile.

Harry himself was dressed as a Muggle businessman, in a tailored black suit and red tie. The soft wool of the charcoal grey fabric felt nice against his skin; he was not accustomed to wearing expensive clothing, but he could now afford it. When he was at Hogsmeade earlier in the day purchasing his outfit, he had debated also buying a top hat and cane. After better consideration, he realized that not many of his Wizarding classmates would pick up on the reference to a gangster, so it would only inspire confused looks. Also, Ron had mentioned that his carrying a cane would be creepy, because it reminded him of Lucius Malfoy. After that comment, Harry had gagged a little bit, and then he dropped the idea immediately.

“If he shows up here in anything but a girl’s uniform, I will personally drag his snooty arse back to the dungeons.”

Ron laughed, but his eyes looked soft and thoughtful. “He hasn’t been all that snooty this year. Haven’t you noticed?”

Harry raised his brows. “Are you actually defending Malfoy? Is the world coming to an end?”

“I’m not defending him!” Ron said, raising his hands with his palms out. “I still think he’s a ferrety git. But you have to admit, he has been a lot less git-like since being allowed back.”

Despite himself, Harry could not help shrugging a shoulder in grudging agreement. “I suppose so. He’s probably been trying to look grateful. As he should!” he added more forcefully.

Hermione trotted over to them from the refreshment table, weaving her way through the mass of people in ridiculous costumes. She carried one glass of bright red punch in her hand, two others floating closely. Along with them, her wavy hair bounced behind her, out of which stuck two black, furry ears. She also had three black lines painted onto each of her cheeks, like whiskers.

“Here you are,” she said with a smile. “It’s supposed to mimic blood, I suppose,” she said while Harry and Ron picked the drinks out of the air. “There were also jelly eyeballs... which looked suspiciously like real eyeballs, so I didn’t want to chance it.”

Ron grimaced, his lips twisted in a disgusted frown. “Yes, good decision,” he said.

Hermione lowered her voice and added, “Don’t tell anyone, but there is a rumour going around that Seamus and Dean have sneaked some Firewhiskey in!” She arched a single brow in distinct disapproval. “Honestly, there are underaged children here,” she continued with an exasperated sigh. “Couldn’t they have saved that for back in the tower, in the privacy of their own dorm?”

Harry glanced at Ron and saw that he was looking at him with both eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. Both of them smiled, and Harry knew that they had made an unspoken agreement to go in search of Seamus and Dean as soon as humanly possible; meaning, as soon as Hermione was thoroughly distracted.

“Well, well,” said a deep, smooth voice. “If it isn’t the heroes of the Wizarding World.”

Harry turned to see Blaise Zabini standing behind him with a smirk on his face. He was dressed in a traditional warlock’s robes, looking smug as usual.

“Who are you dressed as?” Harry asked. “Merlin?”

Zabini lowered his head looked at Harry through his eyelashes, as if Harry were stupid. “Loads of people are going to be Merlin tonight; there is no way I would throw myself in with the masses.”

“What are you, then?” Hermione chirped, hands on her hips.

With a sigh, Zabini drawled, “Salazar Slytherin. Obviously.”

“Very imaginative,” Harry said, glancing at the snake detail on the chain that held the front of Zabini’s robe together. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to be him tonight. Only, you know, the entirety of his house.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” Zabini said lightly.

“Is there something you want,” Ron asked, “or were you just aiming to be annoying?”

“Actually,” Zabini said with a smirk, “I came over here to congratulate Potter.”

“On?” For a moment Harry thought Zabini was going to thank him for “winning the war”, or something equally unnecessary and embarrassing.

Surprisingly, Zabini said smoothly, “For putting Malfoy in his place.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Oh... er....” Not knowing exactly how to respond, he simply said, “No problem?”

“When I left the dungeons, he was still swearing the place down.” Zabini’s smirk turned into quiet, controlled snickering.

Even though Harry found himself grinning, the thought of Malfoy’s frustration being extremely satisfying, he saw that Hermione was frowning.

“I think the war put him in his place well enough,” she said, “and what you all are doing now is nothing short of childish.”

“To be honest, Granger,” Zabini interjected, “Malfoy more or less asked for it.”

“I agree,” Ron said with a grin, nodding. “He was the one who told Harry that he had lost his touch in Quidditch. Completely uncalled for, if you ask me.”

“And Harry was the one who believed him,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes.

“Oi!” said Harry. “He was provoking me on purpose!” He sounded slightly pathetic even to himself as the words left his lips, but he just smiled sheepishly and added, “I really didn’t have a choice but to teach him a lesson.” He heard Ron and Zabini chuckling quietly to themselves and knew that he had supporters in this sentiment.

“Are you still fifteen?” Hermione asked, pursing her lips.

Her expression made him feel a tinge of guilt. He frowned and murmured under his breath, “No.”

He supposed that she was right; it was slightly immature of him to get sucked into a petty bet with Malfoy. They should be past teasing each other and having stupid arguments. Worst of all, Harry worried about harbouring a secret sadistic streak... what with the outfit he had demanded Malfoy wear.

Still, he couldn’t help the tiny smile that curled his lips even as he imagined it.

Hermione was looking over his shoulder, towards the entrance to the Great Hall, with wide eyes. She put a hand to her mouth trying to suppress an obvious giggle, but the shrill sound escaped her nonetheless. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, trying to keep her smiling lips pressed tightly together. “Is that... Is that Malfoy, there?”

Harry turned, and what he saw made his breath catch in his throat. Near the huge doors of the entrance stood Draco Malfoy, wearing, as he’d promised, a Slytherin girl’s school uniform. Harry’s heart almost stopped as his eyes raked over Malfoy’s body, taking in every detail.

On his feet, Malfoy wore plain black shoes with a rounded toe, and he wore stockings - sheer stockings that called Harry’s eye up the long line of Malfoy’s legs, where they were trimmed with lace at the top of the thigh. And sweet Merlin, Malfoy was wearing a garter! The straps hooked onto the stockings, ran over the exposed sliver of pale skin at the top, and disappeared underneath a pleated skirt. The pattern was tartan, with silver and green stripes... and it was much too short to be decent, Harry thought as his throat reflexively swallowed. Tucked into the skirt was a very tight, white buttoned girl’s top, which fitted awkwardly, but snugly, to Malfoy’s torso. The top buttons were undone, and the sleeves were short and puffy in that flirty, girly way. It made Harry’s spine tingle with nerves.

The thing that caught Harry most off guard, however, was Malfoy’s hair; Malfoy had magically grown it out until it grazed his shoulders. It was parted to one side, running along Malfoy’s cheeks in striking platinum-blond strands.

“Close your mouth, Potter,” Zabini said from next to him, jolting Harry back from his gaping stare. He glared at Zabini when he saw the smug look on his face, with those raised eyebrows and that infuriating smirk. Harry did close his mouth, his jaw tight.

“Bloody fuck,” Ron said, also gaping at Malfoy.

Malfoy was making his way straight toward them, and Harry’s heart inexplicably sped up. He stood up straighter, and he suddenly felt the need to smooth down his suit in case it had wrinkled. As Malfoy got closer, Harry had to force himself to keep his eyes on Malfoy’s face and not on his legs, which were mesmerizing in their movement underneath the hem of the skirt. With an inconvenient burning sensation in his groin, Harry reflected that the skirt was so short that it could accidentally fly up at any time.

“How long am I supposed to wear this thing?” Malfoy asked immediately upon reaching them. The way he crossed his arms in front of his chest, and the way he jutted his hips to the side and made his skirt flare, caused Harry to seriously reconsider the hilarity of this outfit choice. As it turned out, he wasn’t finding it at all funny.

“All night,” Ron answered. “Those were the terms of the bet - the loser wears the winner’s choice of outfit for the entire night. That means,” he added, his grin growing wide, “you’re stuck in that skirt, Malfoy, whether you like it or not.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, which were framed by very long, blond lashes. Had Malfoy always had long lashes? Maybe it was the new hairstyle which caused Harry to take notice. It also highlighted the delicate point of Malfoy’s chin. The new length framed his face well and softened it considerably.

His attitude, however, was still the same. Malfoy looked at Ron as if he had finally noticed him. “This,” he said with only the hint of a sneer tugging at his lips, nodding at Ron’s clothing, “is absolutely priceless. Ha! A leprechaun?”

Placing both his thumbs into the braces that ran along his shirt, Ron puffed out his chest and smiled. “I’ve got the coloring for it, don’t you think?”

Harry did not expect Malfoy’s reaction. He would never have guessed that Malfoy would pass up the opportunity for a jibe. However, Malfoy only smiled primly, as if he was holding it back, scared of showing a positive emotion. Harry considered slapping himself when he thought of Malfoy’s smile as sweet. It was definitely the hair....

“Did you transfigure your own uniform into that one?” Hermione asked Malfoy, her tone not the least bit mocking. In fact, she seemed seriously interested, staring at his clothes with wide, curious eyes. “If you did transfigure it, that is very impressive.”

Malfoy smiled tightly, his lips a thin line. “No, I couldn’t be bothered. This is one of Pansy’s.”

Hermione raised a brow and said, “It looks a bit small, even for her.”

“She took a wand to it, trying to fit it to me better. But she ended up shrinking it,” Malfoy said, looking down at himself with a shrug. Then he scanned Hermione’s body and asked, “What are you? A gerbil?”

Looking affronted, Hermione mirrored Malfoy’s stance by crossing her arms and jutting a foot out. “I’m a cat.”

“Oh? Where’s your tail, then?” Malfoy asked with a light chuckle. With that, he sauntered off and left the four of them staring after him.

“Is it me,” Ron asked, “or is he swinging his hips?”

“He’s swinging them,” Zabini said.

“He’s worse as a girl,” Hermione muttered under her breath. “He’s bitchier.”

Harry turned to her instantly and asserted, a bit too loudly, “He’s not a girl!”

All three of them turned to look at him.

“Sorry!” Hermione said, pursing her lips. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive about him.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. “I am not!” He looked wildly among the three of them, who looked at him with confusion on their faces.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked softly.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to make his heartbeat normal again. “Yeah, fine,” he said, hoping that he sounded as reassuring as possible. He assumed he failed when Hermione continued to look at him through squinted eyes, as if her brain was working something out.

“Let’s go find Seamus,” Harry said, turning to Ron. “I think I need that drink.”

Ron nodded and took a step, but he hesitated and turned to look back at Zabini. “You coming?” he asked.

Zabini stood perfectly still, but his mouth threatened to break into a smile. Not a smirk, but a genuine, happy smile, which was only broken by his obvious effort to keep his face as expressionless as possible. Tentatively, he asked, “A drink?”

“Yeah, hurry up if you’re coming, for Merlin’s sake,” Ron said, waving once in their direction.

Harry was always surprised at his friend’s ability to forgive, despite all circumstances. When he saw Zabini nod once and begin walking with them, something inside Harry’s chest swelled with pride. He decided right then that he wanted to be more like Ronald Weasley, who possibly had a bigger heart than he and Hermione combined.

\- - -

 

Two hours later, Harry was holding his punch glass so hard that he thought it might shatter. His mind was fuzzy with alcohol, and his body thrummed with the comfortable heat that only results from being properly pissed. He stared into the crowd with a frown.

“Look at him,” he said to the person next to him. He was unable to tear his eyes away from Malfoy, who was standing in a group of people. All Harry could do was gape at Malfoy’s long, lean legs in those sheer stockings; he wondered how they would feel if he ran his hand along them. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear it of his current thoughts.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Ron said. “He should really take that skirt off. It’s messing with my head.”

Harry took another gulp of his spiked punch, trying to replace the burn in his stomach with another one. Deep down, he knew what Ron was insinuating, but it made his chest clench painfully for some reason.

With a red colour painting his cheeks, and his forehead creased with worry, Ron continued, “I keep thinking I should chat him up.”

Seamus, Dean and Blaise all pulled equally disgusted faces, but they also chuckled at the joke. Blaise added, “But then you remember... it’s Malfoy.” This comment earned even more laughter.

Harry’s jaw clenched. He turned to the group and said, “Just because Malfoy grew his hair a bit doesn’t change who he is.”

“Lighten up, Harry,” Seamus said. “We know he’s the same old ponce as before.” With a goofy grin that Harry could only attribute to the Firewhiskey, Seamus added, “Now, it’s just even more apparent.”

“He’s not bent,” Harry said quickly. He brought his glass back to his lips, muttering, “Can’t be.” The thought left his stomach fluttering with nerves which he decided needed to be drowned with liquor.

When he looked back up, his eye was caught by the figure that emerged from the mob and sauntered up to them. When his mind processed the fact that it was Pansy Parkinson, his jaw immediately tightened. He wondered if he’d feel differently about her now if she had been on the pitch earlier with all of them. However, she’d been distinctly absent.

A sore spot existed around her in Harry’s mind; her presence reminded him of battle wounds that had yet to heal. She was the girl whom Malfoy used to be romantically involved with, and now Malfoy wore her clothing. In fact, he probably even wore her undergarments, if the garter was anything to go by. With a little bit of shame nagging at him, Harry found himself inexplicably wishing that she and Malfoy hadn’t remained so close.

“Hi,” she said without flourish, mostly looking at Zabini, her safe spot. When no one spoke, she cleared her throat and addressed Seamus. “I heard you have access to Firewhiskey,” she said.

“Maybe we do,” Seamus said, crossing his arms in front of him.

“We could always use more drink at the party,” said Zabini.

His face lighting up, Dean asked, “What party?”

“It’s in our common room,” said Parkinson. “At midnight, when all the first-years go to bed.” She looked around as if to emphasize her point.

“Hadn’t you heard about it?” Zabini asked, raising a brow. “We didn’t keep it a secret from the other houses. I think Zacharias Smith from Hufflepuff is coming.”

Pansy nodded. “So is Terry Boot,” she added with a smirk.

“If there are girls, I’ll be there,” Dean exclaimed.

“Agreed,” said Seamus.

“Oh, there will definitely be girls there,” Zabini assured them. Lowering his voice, he added, “Slytherin girls, if you catch my drift.”

Pansy smacked him lightly on the shoulder and asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but he looked up at Neville through his lashes and winked. “Right, Longbottom?”

“Count me in,” Neville said with a grin.

Pansy flicked her hair from her shoulder. “Right, then. See you all there.” She took a few steps away from them, then paused. Turning her head to look back at them, she said, “Midnight. Don’t forget.” After a moment, she disappeared into the crowd.

Harry heard a scoff from next to him, and he looked down to see Hermione with her hands on her hips.

“Did you see how she blatantly ignored us, Harry?” she asked.

“Not at all,” said Zabini. “That’s just how she is. You probably intimidate her.”

“I see,” Hermione said, tight lipped. “Well, I don’t think we’re invited to the party, then.”

“Of course you are,” Zabini scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Granger, do you overthink everything like this?”

“Yes, she does,” Ron confirmed with a nod.

“Well, I’m not going,” Harry said resolutely.

“Oh, come on,” Seamus said. “It’s a party in the dungeons! I’ve always wanted to see them, to be honest.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“And Zabini’s right, as far as I’m concerned,” he added. “I want to get pissed tonight. I want to talk to some girls.”

“There are girls here,” Harry said.

Seamus did not look impressed. “What, second and third years?”

Ron looked conflicted, his brow creased. “He’s right, mate,” he said. “This is sort of sad.”

“Whatever, go,” Harry said, forcing out a light laugh. “I’m not stopping you, I’m just saying that I’m not going.”

“Come on, Potter,” Zabini interjected, his smile reflected in the twinkling of his eyes. “Are you really willing to miss to single moment of Malfoy in his skirt?”

If only Zabini knew the effect that said skirt was having on Harry. Feeling his face get hot, Harry avoided Zabini’s gaze by glancing toward the hall’s entrance. He was about to tell Zabini he wasn’t interested in the party when he caught sight of Malfoy again.

He was standing near the entrance, and next to him was Cormac McLaggen. It would have all been fine, under normal circumstances. After all, Harry couldn’t rightly object to Malfoy talking to people. Not even if those people were tall, fit Gryffindors. In fact, talking to McLaggen was probably exactly the type of thing that Malfoy ought to be doing.

But when McLaggen’s hand crept up, and when his fingertip grazed the hem of Draco’s skirt, Harry felt something inside him snap. He wanted to shove that tosser McLaggen away, pin him against a wall and tell him never to even think about touching Malfoy.

Harry took a deep breath and clenched his fists. “Fine,” he stated abruptly. “I’ll come to the party.”

\- - -

 

No matter how hard he tried, Harry couldn’t seem to pluck the courage to go and talk to Malfoy. It really shouldn’t be this hard; he was the same Malfoy that Harry had known for years. Nothing had changed except his clothing, and somehow, this became a mountain of an obstacle for Harry.

He couldn’t help the way his heart beat nearly through his ribcage when he laid eyes on the skirt. He found himself clutching dangerously hard on his cup while he stared at Malfoy from across the Slytherin common room.

The fact that he even wanted to speak to Malfoy made him angry, but it was a constant thought in his hazy mind. Every time he saw someone else approach him, Harry wanted to shove them away and wrap his arm around Malfoy’s waist, to keep Malfoy near him the rest of night. He ended up spending the full hour of midnight in a foul mood, and he endured his friends’ concerned inquiries with tight smiles and shots of Firewhiskey.

“I know what will lighten you up, Potter,” Zabini said. “A game.”

This idea seemed to go over well with everyone else, because there was a flurry of chatter and excitement among their small circle.

Zabini continued, “Let’s call the whole room together for a large game of dirty truth or dare.”

“Oh, fuck,” Harry grumbled. “I’ll need another drink for that.”

“I’ll get it started,” Zabini said with a grin, and he left Harry by the table with the beverages.

He was deciding if he could handle more vodka or if he should switch to beer when he heard a drawling voice behind him.

“Potter,” Malfoy said in greeting, making Harry jump. He stood next to Harry at the table.

As Malfoy reached across him to get to the vodka bottle, Harry caught the scent of his cologne radiating from his body. His trousers tightened instantly. He wanted to touch Malfoy. Anywhere. He wanted to run his hand up one of those stocking-covered thighs.

“I have to tell you,” Malfoy said and interrupted Harry from his thoughts, “that you shouldn’t feel very smug.”

Harry found it hard to breath now that Malfoy was finally standing right in front of him. His brain couldn’t keep up with the words falling out of Malfoy’s pretty mouth. “Er... smug?” Harry asked.

“About winning today.” Malfoy looked tipsy. He swayed forward slightly, leaning in closer to Harry.

“Oh!” Harry understood what Malfoy was talking about. “That. I really got you, didn’t I?” he asked, attempting to smile flirtatiously. He hoped to God he didn’t just look insane and goofy.

“Well, you have no reason to be happy about it,” Malfoy said with a smile tugging at a corner of his mouth.

“Why not?”

“Because I am not suffering nearly as much in this,” Malfoy said, taking one step back and holding his arms out to show his entire outfit, “as I believe you thought I would.”

Harry swallowed. If anyone was actually suffering, it was him.

“It’s getting a lot of attention,” Malfoy added happily.

“I bet,” Harry said under his breath.

“So don’t you dare think you’ve won, Harry Potter,” Malfoy said, invading Harry’s space and jabbing him in the chest for emphasis.

Harry felt warmer when Malfoy was so near.

“Do you like it, by the way? I must admit, I put a bit of extra effort into the costume.”

“It’s bloody fantastic,” Harry blurted out before he knew what he was saying.

Malfoy looked down at the ground and blushed. If Harry didn’t know him so well, he’d say that Malfoy suddenly felt shy. But how could that be?

However, the tilt in his chin was endearing. There was a large grin on his face, and he bowed his head as if to hide it. His flushed cheeks were too much on top of it all, and Harry felt his heart start to pound again.

Malfoy looked up at him through his lashes. “You really think so?”

Harry bit his bottom lip. “I meant... it’s not bad.” He held his breath as Malfoy stared at him, his eyes bright. He felt like he was being sized-up.

“What about the stockings?” Malfoy asked, trailing his own fingers over them. He played with the lace at top, and he traced the strap of the garter that clipped onto edge of the sheer fabric. “Do you think they were a nice addition?”

Harry couldn’t speak; he could only stare with his jaw slack, as Malfoy blatantly teased him.

“And the skirt?” Malfoy asked, tracing the exposed skin where the hem fell against his thigh. “It’s a bit short on me, naturally,” he drawled. “But I thought it worked well.”

“Right.” Harry licked his lips and felt his body burn up.

“The hair was an added touch, wasn’t it?” Malfoy flicked the hair from his shoulders. The light blond strands shone beautifully, even in the dimly lit common room. “Although many wizards do choose to wear their hair long; it’s nothing peculiar.”

“Not at all,” Harry agreed, murmuring the first thing that came to mind.

“I certainly did a better job at dressing up than you did.” Malfoy eyed Harry up and down. “A tad unimaginative, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said, smiling. “I thought it might be fitting to wear my Quidditch uniform.”

“Why?”

“To remind you of our game. And most importantly, that I won it.”

“I told you not to be smug! I beat you at dressing up, since you obviously put no effort at all into your look.”

“Well unfortunately for you, it wasn’t a costume competition.”

Malfoy scoffed lightly. “Whatever, Potter. Halloween happens to be my favorite holiday. Or,” his lips fell in a frown, “it used to be.”

“I hate Halloween,” Harry blurted out instantly. He winced; after he’d said it, he wished he hadn’t. “I just, er... never understood the appeal.”

“It was fun when I was younger,” Malfoy said solemnly, all previous silliness gone. He looked Harry in the eye. “Now, all the graveyards and ghosts have lost their appeal. Strangely enough, I have no interest in seeing the dead come back on Hallow’s Eve.”

A flood of emotion filled Harry, and he wanted to pull Malfoy against into his arms and hold him tightly. “I know exactly what you mean.”

They were both silent then, considering one another with thoughtful stares. Whenever Harry opened his mouth to try and say something, Malfoy did the same, and they both paused.

A shriek of laughter distracted Harry, and he turned his head to look at the rest of the room. It came from Pansy, who was bent over, clutching her stomach. She sat on the edge of a circle of people who were all playing the game. In the center, McLaggen was on his knees, his lips puckered and his face bright red. He was, literally, kissing Ron’s arse.

“I should have told you to take off the trousers and do that!” Pansy exclaimed, dark streaks running down her eyes from her tears of laughter.

Ron waved at Harry to join them. “Come over here.”

Harry caught Malfoy’s eye. “Are you going to play?”

“Of course I am.” When he walked towards the group, Harry’s eyes were glued to his skirt. He watched the way it bounced lightly with each step, and the way the pleats hugged the curves of Malfoy’s arse. He had no choice but to follow.

The Slytherin common room was furnished with sleek, black leather armchairs. Six chairs were pulled into a circle, and extra players perched themselves on the arms. Ron fell back into his seat with a grin, looking extremely self-satisfied. McLaggen also had his own chair, and he grabbed the beer off the floor next to it as soon as he sat down. The rest of the seats were occupied, and it didn’t look like there was any room for two more people.

Harry spotted another chair in the far corner of the common room, and he pulled out his wand to lift it magically into the air. He levitated the armchair towards him, settling down easily right next to the circle.

“Come on, let’s all squeeze up,” Ron said, getting back up from his seat and turning around to grab it.

Everyone else followed suit, dragging and pushing the chairs around to make room in the circle. Harry fell into his seat with a satisfied sigh. He looked at Malfoy with a tentative smile, and he let one of his palms fall heavily onto his thigh. The move was supposed to be careful, inconspicuous to the rest of the group. He wasn’t even sure if Malfoy had understood him. Slowly, he moved his thumb in small circles on his jeans, hoping that Malfoy would catch on.

Malfoy’s stare was so piercing that Harry involuntarily licked and bit his lips. No one was looking at them, but he still felt hot around the neck as if there were a hundred eyes on him. Sod them all, he wanted Malfoy on his lap. He doubted anyone here was sober enough to look at them oddly; and even so, he could always claim that there had been no other choice. There were no more seats left, after all.

In the corner of his vision, he noticed Pansy looking at him from across the circle. When she caught his eye, he quickly glanced away from her. He couldn’t care less what Pansy thought of him.

“Draco,” said McLaggen. “Come and sit down, there’s room here.” He patted the arm of his chair.

Harry stopped moving his thumb across his thigh, and he curled the hand into a fist. With a grimace, he watched Malfoy walk in the direction of McLaggen and lift onto his tip-toes so that he could sit on the arm. McLaggen’s hand moved to rest behind Malfoy, and Harry clenched his teeth as he wondered if he was resting it on the small of Malfoy’s back. He would strangle McLaggen. Malfoy was much too sexy to be groped by the likes of him. The way he spread his legs to be able to sit on the arm of the chair caused his skirt to fall in between them, and Harry thought he saw the outline of a bulge.

“I think it’s my turn,” Ron said with a clap of his hands, “since I got the receiving end of McLaggen’s dare. By the way, nice one Zabini.”

With a mischievous smirk, Zabini nodded in thanks.

“Hm.” Ron looked around the circle, until his eyebrows rose and his face lit up. “Harry,” he said plainly, looking in his direction.

Harry’s stomach dropped. His mind automatically considered which option would merit him the least pain and suffering. On one hand, he could choose dare and perform some demeaning act of momentary humiliation, such as taking his shirt off or licking someone’s shoe. On the other, he could choose truth and be made to share a piece of personal information. He didn’t know which was scarier.

“Trick or treat?” Ron asked.

Harry blinked at him. “What?”

“Say trick, or say treat.”

“I thought we were playing truth or dare.”

“It’s like that, but we’ve changed it for Halloween. You pick trick if you want to do something to someone, and you pick treat if you want to sit back and have something done to you.” Snickers from around the circle accompanied the end of this explanation.

Harry’s mind reeled. Now what was he supposed to pick?

“You look like someone’s Petrified you, Potter,” Zabini said.

“What sort of thing would I do if I picked trick?” Harry asked.

As Zabini rolled his eyes, Pansy spoke up. “Something dirty,” she said, and laughter burst up all around the circle.

Harry frowned. “Fine, trick.” His stomach churned with nerves and anticipation, and he instantly wanted to take it back.

“Alright,” said Ron. In that moment, with his face shining as if this were Christmas morning, he reminded Harry remarkably of Fred and George, and Harry worried for his virtue. “Why don’t you get up, and go give Pansy a big kiss on the lips?”

Pansy instantly blushed. She looked him in the eye and smiled shyly, her entire body stiffening up in its seat on the arm of a chair.

Harry frowned. After shooting Ron a glare, he stood up. It only took a few steps to get across the circle to Pansy. He managed to sneak a glance at Malfoy, and he saw the boy frowning as well. Harry’s stomach sank, and he imagined that Malfoy didn’t want him kissing his on-and-off girlfriend.

When he stopped in front of her, Harry decided it was best to just get it over with. In one movement, he grabbed Pansy’s face with both hands and leaned in, pushing his lips against hers.

It was a dry, passionless kiss; her lips had all the texture and life of a piece of parchment. It was over in a second. People complained that it was too fast, that they didn’t even get to see it, but Harry was already walking back to his seat. In fact, he was smiling. He really had no reason to be upset; there were certainly much worse things that Ron could have asked him to do.

With an intake of breath, he looked in Malfoy’s direction. Harry was disappointed to find him staring at Pansy, his cheeks pink and his mouth a thin line. He must not have liked that. If anything, Harry thought, watching Pansy kiss another bloke probably made Malfoy want to get back together with her right away, before anyone else could touch her. Whatever hope Harry might have felt earlier about Malfoy’s romantic tendencies, when he let McLaggen touch the hem of his skirt or when he teased Harry about his outfit, was gone and left only a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“My turn!” said Pansy. “Let me think. I want to do a really good one.” She pursed her lips and looked around, much like Ron had. Finally, she smiled and said, “Draco. Trick or treat?”

Lifting his chin, Malfoy responded crisply, “Trick.”

A slow smile crept over Pansy’s face. Her voice dripping sweetness, she said, “I want you to go and sit on Potter’s lap for the remainder of the game.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Had she really said what he thought she had?

Apparently she did, because Malfoy had gotten up. It felt to Harry like time sped up, because he barely noticed Malfoy crossing the circle. All he knew was that Malfoy was suddenly in front of him, and Harry couldn’t look up at his face. He stared at the lace hugging the top of his thighs, and he couldn’t believe those legs would be spread on top of him.

Malfoy turned so that back was facing Harry, and he slowly lowered himself until the softness of his arse pressed into Harry’s legs. A rush of heat surged through Harry’s groin. He felt the weight of Malfoy’s body against his cock, which started to fill.

Harry winced, biting down hard on his bottom lip. There was no way that Malfoy couldn’t feel how hard he was. Now he officially knew what Harry had been feeling about him all night.

To Harry’s mortification - and delight - Malfoy wiggled his arse as if trying to find a comfortable arrangement. The result was his arse grinding against Harry’s cock through the fabric of their clothing. It made Harry want to whimper aloud.

“Am I too heavy for you?” Malfoy asked in a low voice. He turned his head so that Harry could see the fan of his lashes and curve of his lips.

“Not at all,” Harry ground out. He didn’t know where to put his hands. He felt awkward sitting with both hands on the armrest, and he felt stupid sitting with them idle at his side. So instead, he carefully wrapped his fingers around Draco’s slim hips.

He could hear Draco’s rough breathing. “Make sure you’ve got a good hold on me, Potter. Don’t drop me.”

“I won’t,” Harry said.

Draco squeezed his legs together around Harry’s thighs. “Good,” he whispered before facing forward again.

It was Harry’s turn next, and he couldn’t see anyone from behind Draco’s back. "Seamus?” he called out.

“Yes?” came the reply.

“Trick or treat?”

“Tonight, I’m in the mood for a treat, Harry,” Seamus said, eliciting laughs from the group. “So make it a good one, won’t you, mate?”

Harry was thoughtful for a moment. The perfect idea came to him, and he had Daphne Greengrass give Seamus a lapdance. This seemed to resonate well with the lads in the circle, because there was a large amount of whooping and hollering. Greengrass put on a show of being reluctant, but then she looked oddly enthusiastic when she began to gyrate against Seamus body.

Swallowing hard, Harry traced his hands down Draco’s hips and onto the soft, woollen fabric of the skirt. Slowly, he continued to move them lower, until he found the hem of the skirt and his fingertips brushed smooth skin. Draco leaned back and pressed his back into Harry’s chest. Harry’s lips brushed the rough, cotton shirt, and he became dizzy with the smell of Draco’s scent.

“You like having me in your lap, don’t you, Potter?” Draco said quietly.

Harry grunted involuntarily; the words had a heady effect on him. “You like being in my lap, don’t you, Draco?” When Draco didn’t respond, Harry continued, spurred by the heat that the words created in him. “Dressed like a little schoolgirl, and sitting on daddy’s lap.”

Draco’s back arched, and his arse pressed even harder against Harry’s cock. Harry found himself panting shallowly, his lips sliding against the fabric on Draco’s back. He was breathing hotly onto him, leaving the white cotton wet under his mouth. Draco was moving in minute circles against his groin, and Harry felt his hardness pressing into him.

Draco didn’t care, Harry realised. He was so confused about the whole thing, but he just knew that it felt incredible. His whole body felt lit up with heat and energy, his chest tingling with sensitive nerves.

“Feels like you’re the kinky sod around here,” Draco quipped, pushing his arse against Harry’s hard cock.

Harry didn’t answer, only moved his hands around the curves of Draco’s thighs. He craved the feeling of Draco’s skin, which was so soft on the inside of his legs. His thumbs dipped below the hem of Draco’s skirt, rubbing and squeezing with his fingers.

Draco let out a quiet whimper, and he doubled his efforts of grinding backwards into Harry’s cock. Harry let out a frustrated noise that sounded like a growl, and he bit Malfoy’s back, dragging his teeth together softly.

“Someone will notice us,” Draco said.

“So let’s go,” Harry whispered. He hardly knew what he was saying, his mind was so fogged up with Firewhiskey and lust.

Surprisingly, Draco whispered, “Okay.”

The pressing stopped, and Harry realized that Draco meant it. He had to loosen his grip on Draco’s thighs when Draco moved, shimmying down and off Harry’s legs. When he stood, he looked over his shoulder at Harry for a moment before making his way to the dormitories.

Harry realized that everyone was looking at him. He instantly put his hands over his groin to hide his physical state, although the tenting in his trousers was obvious. If he followed Draco now, everyone would know what they were going to do. Not only would the people in this room discover his preferences, but so would the whole school, and the newspapers, and then the world.

McLaggen turned in his seat to watch Draco leave. “Oi, Draco!” he shouted. “Where are you going?”

Draco had only gotten a few steps away, and he stopped and turned. “I’m tired,” he drawled. “It’s time for me to head to bed.”

When McLaggen made a move as if to rise from his seat, all the muscle in Harry’s body tensed. He got to his feet so fast that every head turned to look at him. With swift steps, he reached Draco’s side and placed a protective hand low on his back.

“Not with you,” he said, addressing McLaggen directly.

The boy raised his eyebrows, looking like he’d been struck dumb. Ron’s mouth was hanging open in confusion, and Zabini and Pansy both smirked knowingly.

Harry firmly nudged Draco forward with his hand, making him move again. They walked toward the little corridor that led to the dorms.

The entire way to Draco’s room, Harry could feel his heart beating in his throat. He let Draco lead, but he kept a light touch on him the whole time, unable to take his hand away.

Draco stopped in front of a door, and paused. He looked down at the ground once, and then he raised his head to meet Harry’s eyes. Without a word, and without looking away, Draco gripped the doorknob and turned it, letting the door slowly creak open. His eyes fell down to Harry’s trousers, and he reached out to hook a finger through the leather belt loop. Harry had no choice but to let Draco drag him inside.

Harry looked around, taking in every detail of Malfoy’s dormitory. There was a row of beds framed by thick, velvet curtains, and writing desks scattered with parchments and open textbooks. A broken quill lay forgotten on the floor, and rumpled clothing fell out of open drawers. He was so consumed in the surroundings that he almost didn’t notice the door slam behind him.

Draco walked past him toward one of the beds, and he sat down. The simple sight of Draco on a bed was enough to renew the burning sensation in Harry’s groin. Draco leaned back with his hands flat on the bed, and he spread his legs. The skirt tented, and Harry’s mind raced to imagine what was hidden underneath.

“That’s your bed?” he asked gruffly, his throat feeling dry. He swallowed to wet his mouth.

“Yes, which is why I’m sitting on it,” Draco said, but there was no bite in his voice. His eyes were trained on Harry’s face, and occasionally skimmed over his body.

Harry stepped forward until he was looking down at Draco, and Draco tilted his head back to look up at him. Draco’s arms gave way, and he slid onto his back on the mattress. The bed was unmade, and the sheets were crumpled into the blanket. Harry felt a strong desire to touch the place where Malfoy laid every night, so he leaned over and put both hands on either side of Draco’s torso, getting onto his hands and knees on top of him.

“This is where you sleep?” Harry asked quietly.

Draco’s chest rose and fell. “Yes,” he breathed.

Harry groaned, “It smells like you.”

Draco’s hands suddenly gripped his waist, and all Harry could do was fall forward. His lips touched Draco’s, and Harry’s chest filled with a fluttering sensation. He pressed their lips together even more and felt Draco’s hands squeeze him tightly. Their lips parted simultaneously, and Harry felt the wetness of Draco’s tongue on his own. A sensation of heat seared him. He parted his lips again, seeking out Draco’s tongue for another feel. A little voice in his head kept nagging him, you’re kissing Draco Malfoy, and strangely, it made Harry all the more urgent.

Draco’s legs came to wrap around his middle, pulling Harry down until they ground against one another over their clothing. It was maddening; Harry thought he’d force Draco through the mattress with how hard he was rutting. The sound of Draco groaning into the kiss really wasn’t helping his resolve.

Harry lifted his head to breathe. Draco’s eyes were clouded, and his cheeks and lips were pink. Harry forced himself into a sitting position against the tangle of limbs. He pulled Draco on top of him so that Draco straddled his waist, his own back settling into Draco’s pillows. Once again, he noticed Draco’s distinct essence all around him, making him dizzy.

Mostly, he found that he liked the sight of Draco in his lap. The skirt draped around him in a pleated circle, and Harry felt a heavy, solid press underneath it that made his breath catch.

“Are you wearing knickers under that thing?” Harry’s voice came out rough.

Draco smirked. “I never thought you’d have a knicker fetish, Potter.”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Harry admitted under his breath, rubbing his thumbs against Draco’s hipbones.

“Or skirts. It’s rather shoddy for the Saviour. Next thing, you’ll be asking me to call you Daddy.” Draco leaned in and wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck. His lips came close.

Harry turned his head to avoid Draco’s kiss. He felt a pleasant lurching sensation in his stomach at Draco’s suggestion.

“I’m joking,” Draco said lazily, chasing Harry’s mouth but not managing to catch it. “That would never happen.”

“Besides, I only like the skirt on you.”

“That’s odd.”

“Shut it.” Harry pinched the skin of Draco’s thighs, making Draco jump. “These stockings,” he said running, his hands along Draco’s legs, “look really good on you.”

With a glint in his eyes, Draco murmured, “McLaggen said the same thing.”

His entire body tensed. Harry sat up suddenly. His grip on Draco’s hips caused Draco to fall back into the mattress.

Harry couldn’t help himself. “I don’t like that,” he said immediately.

The corner of Draco’s mouth turned up. “What do you mean?”

“I just....” Why was he confessing this? He licked his lips and dragged his hand possessively against Draco’s thigh. “I couldn’t stand him talking to you tonight.”

“I talked to a lot of people tonight.”

“Yes, but.... He was particularly free with his hands.”

Draco dragged his hands against Harry’s arse, making him grunt. “It’s not up to you who touches me.”

Harry bit his bottom lip. “What about if I touch you? Is that okay?”

Draco didn’t say anything, only looked at him through lidded eyes and breathed heavily. So Harry dipped his fingers under the hem of the skirt and dragged it up to pool at Draco’s waist.

Harry’s cock twitched at the sight below. “Fuck, Draco,” he sighed.

There was a sliver of skin, exposing Draco’s lower stomach. A light dusting of blond hairs trailed towards his groin, and they disappeared underneath pink lace.

“I love pink,” Harry said, more to himself than to Draco, but he felt Draco shake with laughter underneath his hands.

The knickers cradled Draco’s cock, which was hard and leaking. His precome soaked through the fabric, and his balls strained against the thin strip of lace that squeezed them together. Harry sighed, releasing one of the balls from its confines. He heard Draco whimper above him as the lace of the knickers fell between his bollocks and separated them. Harry traced the one that was free, dragging his finger along the velvety skin. It was so soft and delicate, and it turned an even deeper pink where the fabric squeezed it.

Maybe it was the way Malfoy squirmed under his touch, or maybe it was the fact that he was so smooth and hairless, but Harry wanted nothing more than to lean down and suck the ball into his mouth. He dragged his tongue over it first, holding Draco’s shaking thighs spread out as far onto the mattress as he could get them. He tasted clean, and he smelled just musky enough that Harry felt lightheaded. Putting his lips to the soft skin, his kissed it for a few seconds, hard enough to leave a mark. Finally, he opened his mouth wider and let it slip in, let it settle onto his tongue.

Draco was panting heavily. He tried to thrash his hips forward, but Harry continued to hold him down with a firm grip. “Ha... Harry,” Draco whined, clutching his hair.

Harry detached his mouth long enough to tilt his head up. “What do you want?”

“Take them off, please.”

“Begging already?” Harry teased with a smile.

“Fuck....”

“They stay on,” Harry said. “I want to see you come like this.”

“Harry....”

“In your skirt and knickers, like the filthy fucker you are.”

He had no idea where his boldness came from, but his cock strained against his trousers at his own words. He reached down to undo them, wiggling his hips to get them off. He sighed in relief when his cock was free and could rub against the mattress.

He licked Draco’s cock over the kickers, tasting dry fabric and velvety skin in between the pattern of the lace. The head of Draco’s cock peeked out of the top, and Harry kissed it over and over again. He ignored Draco’s pleas and the pulling of his hair. Draco would come in his knickers tonight, and Harry would make sure of it. The thought alone made his own cock spill with precome, and he rutted against the mattress as he simultaneously sucked the head of Draco’s prick.

Underneath his palms, he felt the muscles in Draco’s thighs clench. It was a warning, and Harry lifted his head just in time to watch Draco come all over himself. It spurted over the lower portion of his stomach, and it dribbled onto the pink lace.

Only then did Harry grip the flimsy knickers and pull them down, dragging them off Draco’s legs. Draco was so spent, he hardly gave him any trouble, his legs lying boneless while he panted and recovered. The only barrier was the garter, which he unclipped from the stockings.

“Look,” Harry breathed, holding the knickers close to Draco’s face.

Draco blushed and looked away. “Potter, I’m spent.”

“Oh, no. We’re not done yet.”

“Like hell....”

Harry cut him off by hauling him up by his waist. “You’re going to finish me.” He pulled Draco into his lap again. “Take your shirt off.”

Draco swallowed, but he obeyed. He unbuttoned the shirt slowly, and then shrugged it off. In moments, he was left in only the skirt, the garter, and those gorgeous sheer stockings. He looked vulnerable, his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly, and his cheeks flushed with orgasm.

Harry showed him the knickers again. “Look how you’ve wet them.” He felt Draco’s cock twitch against his abdomen. He smiled and brought the knickers up to brush against Draco’s pouting lips, leaving a line of come across his mouth and chin.

“Potter, please.” The blush deepened. Draco’s tongue peeked out to taste his wetness, and his cock twitched once.

He liked it and he wouldn’t admit it. In his lusty state, Harry pressed the knickers against his lips again, pushing and pushing until Draco had them in his mouth. Harry shoved them in with two fingers, groaning aloud as Draco sucked on them through the lace.

He left the knickers there, half hanging from Draco’s mouth. He could feel the cock against his stomach leak, and he smirked at the knowledge that Draco was getting hard again so soon. He felt a rush of power swell his chest, and it was surprisingly heady.

Reaching behind Draco, he traced the crease of his arse. Draco lifted his hips, and Harry was able to find his entrance. His fingers nestled deeper, pressing against his hole until Draco whimpered. The sound was muffled by the knickers, and when Harry looked up, he saw them soaked with spit.

Harry frantically reached out his other arm to find his wand, and he Accio’d lube. It came flying from Draco’s nightstand. Draco’s eyes widened as Harry got his fingers slick and reached back around, and he sucked in a breath when Harry inserted a finger into his arsehole.

“Get my cock lubed,” Harry directed. “It’s going in your arse, so get it ready.”

Draco reached a trembling hand out and took the tube of lubricant off the mattress where it lay. He squeezed a generous amount onto Harry’s cock, and then he used both hands to smooth it on evenly.

Harry inhaled sharply. “Are you ready for me?”

Draco made a noise through the knickers, and he nodded. His body naturally swayed in Harry’s lap, moving in small circles as Harry continued to finger him. Draco’s chin shone with the spit that drooled from the corners of his mouth.

Harry smacked him lightly on the arse in a signal for him to lift, and Draco complied. He held Draco up fully by the arse, while Draco positioned Harry’s cock in the right place. They both moaned loudly when Harry breached Draco entrance; the pressure around his cock was going to make him pass out with pleasure.

He used his hands to lift Draco up and down, squeezing his arse cheeks in his palms as they moved over him. They settled into a rhythm of a slow rolling of Draco’s hips. His hands pressed heavily against Harry’s shoulders, pinning him to the headboard.

When Harry wanted him to go faster, he directed him with his hands, squeezing his cheeks and pushing them forward, sometimes smacking them in urgent command. When he looked into Draco’s eyes, he found them cloudy and unseeing.

The rolling became frantic, and Harry ended up thrusting upwards. Together, they cried out, and Draco came on Harry’s stomach while Harry finished in his arse.

Draco collapsed into Harry’s arms. He laid his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry dragged his hands up his back, holding his tightly around the waist. As he squeezed him tightly, Draco lifted his hips and Harry felt his dick slide out.

He pulled Draco’s face up, holding his cheek in his palm, and removed the knickers from his mouth. Draco wasn’t looking him in the eye, and Harry could tell that he had never done anything like this before. It made Harry’s chest swell for some reason, and he leaned into kiss those swollen, wet lips. Using his thumb, he wiped away as much of the spit as he could off Draco’s chin.

Harry grinned. He didn’t want to speak too loudly, lest he break the quiet, fragile bond that he felt between them. “Can I stay over?” he asked, just above a whisper.

Draco frowned. “I think Zabini will be up.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said with a smirk, thinking back to all the hints he’d received from Zabini all night regarding him and Draco. “I have a feeling we won’t see him until morning.”

Draco blinked,as if he was trying to find the hidden meaning in Harry’s words. Eventually, he shrugged and fell against him once more. “Whatever, Potter,” he mumbled, his lips tickling Harry’s neck.

Harry settled back and pulled Draco’s rumpled sheets and blanket over them. The smell of Draco all around him made him feel comfortable; something he’d never have imagined feeling in relation to Draco Malfoy. He could hardly believe he was going to spend the night in the Slytherin dorms.

But the school held no more danger for him; Voldemort was gone, Draco was willingly sleeping in his arms, and his friends were all nearby, getting pissed together with the other houses. So although Halloween had never been his favorite holiday, Harry thought it might not be so bad, after all.

With these thoughts swirling around in his head, Harry drifted off to sleep


End file.
